


Grill

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Animal Abuse, Animal Rescue, Dog(s), Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-06
Updated: 2008-11-06
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:23:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's probably a dog, he guesses</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grill

**Author's Note:**

> For hades_puppy's prompt "pit bull rescue" (a cause dear to my heart). The incident with the tiger Mal refers to is my story "The Tigers Have Spoken".

Mal heaves a sigh when he sees his crew crowded together, fawning over some furry creature. His face trades exasperation for distaste when he sees what it is. It's probably a dog, he guesses (or possibly a down-on-its-luck chupacabra), but it's got to be the most shrivelled, pitiful, gremlin-looking thing he's seen a-limping. But there they all are: Jayne making chucking noises and starting every word with an 'r' while Kaylee and Inara make heart-eyes at it and stroke what patches of brindled hair still cling to its skinny form between the scars; Simon does that distant-eyed med-exam touch with a look of compassionate concern and even Zoe's got a warm smile or trace thereof.

“Y'all best wash your hands good and thorough after handling that nánkàn beast,” Mal barks.

“She's clean enough,” River says, and it figures she'd be the ring-leader in all this, after that time with the tiger and everything else. “I washed her after I bought her.”

“You paid money for that?” Mal says, like she'd claimed it was raining gold-plated elephants. The others drift off silently as he approaches, leaving girl and animal alone, joined hand to neck by a length of frayed rope. The latter cowers at the boom of his voice, tucking tail and curling to expose a white-patched belly, while the former crouches at its head and blinks up dark-eyed and defiant.

“If I hadn't, someone else would eventually. The next time they put her in the ring, or the time after, if they didn't pull the other off her in time, they'd have been selling what was left to a street vendor.”

“Yeah, well, that's what happens.” Mal's never been comfortable eating hound himself, always remembering the cattledogs on Ma's ranch, but doesn't begrudge people taking their meat where they find it. “You might as well go get your money back, because I ain't having that flea-bitten mongrel on my gorram ship.”

“She doesn't have fleas. She's not a fighter, either; doesn't have the 'game.' Bait dog, used to train the others. She's been kicked and beaten every turn but still she looks up in hope, 'case maybe this time it's a bone in the hand instead of a stick.”

“Even so,” he starts, but River is obviously ignoring him.

“Sweet pup,” she says soothingly, scratching behind the cur's torn ears. “Good Grill.”

Mal frowns. “Did you just say 'grill'?”

River nods. “For the bars of the cage she was born between and the barbecue she'd have ended up on.”

Okay, morbid but it makes a kind of sense. “You can't keep her,” he says again.

“You kept them,” River says, tilting her head towards her comrades, all working hard to show themselves getting Serenity ready for take-off but staying close enough to eavesdrop, then turns her pointed gaze at him, “you kept me.”

Mal rolls his eyes. Does he really have to explain how different that is? But then something cool and wet nudges the edge of his hand, followed by a swipe of slimy warmth, and he looks down into caramel eyes so sad and hopeful he can _feel_ his heart twist. “She'd better be housebroken,” he grumbles, then stomps up the ramp into the ship.


End file.
